


Embers

by Dulcinea



Category: Metallica
Genre: M/M, Romance, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-22
Updated: 2015-12-22
Packaged: 2018-05-08 09:52:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5492909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dulcinea/pseuds/Dulcinea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was a gamble, doing something like this. It wasn’t even Christmas proper per say. But Lars planned this for too long, and James couldn’t spend Christmas with him to begin with...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Embers

**Author's Note:**

> Finally posting more of my old stories to AO3. Figured I'd post the Christmas stories...
> 
> Written as a gift for Sekhmet49, as part of 2012's A Very Kinky Rockfic Ficmas Fest. The prompt was 'James Hetfield, Lars Ulrich (Metallica): In front of the fireplace. Lars shows James how beautiful he's. A lot of sensuality. Expressive gestures and silences.'
> 
> Set in December 1992, during the TBA tour.

Lars found James in the same place where he left him earlier in the afternoon: sitting on the couch, watching the Raiders game on the TV. Except in the fireplace burned the logs Lars forgot to lit on his way out to pick up James’s surprise, as well as their Chinese food. The fireplace he explicitly told James _not_ to light up until he came home.

He sighed, walking into the kitchen.

With their food on two plates, Lars entered the living room with their dinner, situating the tray between them on the couch.

“Hey there.”

James greeted him with a grunt, and then: “Fuck! Come on Robinson, what the _fuck_ is wrong with you?! Son of a bitch, you worthless piece of…”

Lars shook his head, cracking open his beer.

Twenty-five minutes later, an elated James finished his fried rice and broccoli beef, while Lars took his empty plate to the kitchen. There, he fished out of the fridge James’s surprise—dark chocolate covered strawberries—and a bottle of champagne.

It was a gamble, doing something like this. It wasn’t even Christmas proper per say. But he planned this for too long, and James couldn’t spend Christmas with him to begin with. He had family to go see in LA. He himself had to visit the relatives in Denmark. This was their last time together, before the New Year, and even then, who was to say James would want to ring in 1994 with him. They saw each other enough post-tour anyway. And that wasn’t James. Most likely, doing this wasn’t very James either.

He poured champagne two glasses, settling them onto the silver tray, framing the strawberries.

Lars took a deep breath.

_Can’t hurt to try._

The tray shook in his hands, entering into the room again. The champagne swished in its glasses. He smiled at the sight of James licking his fingers, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

At the base of the couch, he cleared his throat.

James looked up.

James’s eyes widened.

James’s hand fell to his lap and…

He was quiet.

He stared.

Lars forced his smile to stay. He lifted the tray a little. “Surprise?”

The fire crackled. A log moved.

James’s attention fell to the tray.

Lars sucked in his bottom lip. Chewed it.

Those eyes rolled back up to him.

“For me?”

Lars nodded.

James smiled. “You gonna feed me too?”

He chuckled, the tension leaving his shoulders and chest. James moved his old tray off and Lars came to the couch, sitting next to him and placing the new tray on his lap.

One by one, he fed James his strawberries. The sounds of another football game mixed with their crackling fireplace—not the perfect setting Lars imagined, but it was a one that matched James well. He took his time, bringing the chocolate-covered fruit to James’s lips. Watched James take each bite slowly, his teeth sinking into the fruit, the chocolate cracking around the edges, some stray bits falling to the tray. He fed James his champagne in small sips, forgoing his own, until the whole glass was done. He even cleaned the corners of James’s mouth with a napkin or his thumb, when stray juices came down the sides, or when too much chocolate melted over his lips, some chocolate sticking to the ends of his mustache.

When he picked up the last one, James’s hand covered his wrist.

“May I?”

Lars’s face heated up. He nodded yes.

James’s hand slid up his wrist, over the back of his fingers, plucking the stem out of his grip.

He parted his lips, watching James bring the chocolate-covered end to his mouth—and he shivered, when the chocolate end touched his upper lip. Traced it. Over the corner, down to his bottom lip, and onto the next corner. Slow. Smooth. James repeated the movements again, until the end pressed past Lars’s lips, and he bit his teeth down, the chocolate and strawberry juice engulfing Lars’s senses, along with the sight of James’s little smile, and the way his eyes shined.

Once the last strawberry was gone, James brought the champagne glass to Lars’s lips. He took in small sips, just as he did to James, their attentions locked onto each other.

Soon, the tray ended up on the floor. Their clothes soon followed.

James turned the TV off as they left the couch, Lars leading James to the base of the fireplace.

There, James laid back on the plush rug, Lars straddling his waist. His hands rubbed James’s bare chest in small, slow circles—gentle pets from his collarbones to his pecs, abdomen to his sides, and up. Each one deliberate, rising goosepimples on James’s skin, making his cheeks flush and turn pink, causing little gasps and sighs to bubble out of James. And James didn’t protest. He didn’t stop him, when Lars dipped his head and planted kisses from one side of his collarbones to the other. When he slid down, petting and kissing his way to James’s tummy, kissing the navel, kissing his hips, slipping his hands under James’s thighs and pushing them up, lifting those legs over his shoulders. James let him touch, let him kiss—let him do whatever he wishes. Let Lars love him, like Lars knew James needed.

He took his time sucking James off, drawing out each bob his head, licking the tip, rubbing his cheek and nose against the shaft, indulging in the choked moans and sighs and gasped-whimpers of his name. The pleas, begging for him to do more. To touch more. And he indulged. He gave exactly what James wanted. He stroked his cock while he sucked his balls into his mouth. Sucked his cock and stroked the rest. Moved his head up and down while his hands stroked the back of his quivering, flexing thighs, the tops and undersides of his knees, his long, muscled calves. Rubbed his fluttering tummy, his sides, the bottom of his rib cage.

And when James’s hands sunk into his hair and his hips thrusted up into his mouth, he moved with the rhythm. He let James use him. Fuck his mouth. Those legs wrapped tight around his head, those hands forced his cock deeper into Lars’s throat until Lars nose pressed against James’s stomach on each thrust, and Lars moaned, relaxed into it. Until James came with a strangled whine, coming apart around him, above him, because of him. It was almost enough to make him come too.

James’s hands pulled his head off his cock—and quickly manipulated Lars’s body above him. Forced Lars between his spread legs.

He found himself watching James’s lips say, “Fuck me.”

Lars gave in with a moan, kissing James quiet.

They parted for a moment, Lars searching the downstairs cabinet for the lube. Coming back into the living room, he found a sight that nearly made him trip: James, on his side, back to the fireplace, hair over his shoulder, stroking his dick and looking right at him. Waiting, for him.

James smirked. He lifted his free hand up and crooked a finger, back and forth.

Lars’s dick twitched.

His feet stumbled over each other, coming back to the floor and to James’s side. They met in a kiss, James’s warm arms winding around Lars’s torso, hands smoothing over the muscled back, and then rolled the two of them over into the position from before, Lars between James’s parted legs.

The fire snapped louder than the bottle cap clicking open.

Lars kissed James’s sweaty tummy, slipping a finger inside.

James moaned, his head lolling to the side, his hands sinking into Lars’s hair again.

The fingers tugged and pulled at the ends, played with them a little, the locks tangling into James’s hands as Lars took his time, drawing each thrust of his finger in and out, before he pressed a second one in.

Then came the whimpers again. The moans. Those thighs quivered again, around Lars’s neck, those long legs trembling over Lars’s shoulders.

James moaned, “Please. Lars.”

Lars pressed his two fingers in deep.

His dick twitched at James’s gasp, and the way his body jolted back onto his hand.

He kissed James’s tummy, rubbed his nose and lips against the skin.

The hands in his hair pulled him upwards again.

Lars flicked his eyes up James’s long, sweaty torso.

His skin had turned gold in the fire’s light, glistening from all the sweaty. And there was the far-away look he was waiting for, the desperation and the need, all for him—all his to take and own and possess.

Again, James moaned, “Please.” A desperate, needier moan.

Lars smirked.

He crooked his fingers inside James and rubbed.

The reaction James gave made Lars hump the floor: the snap of James’s neck going back, the arch of his whole back, the legs tightening and flexing and shaking over his shoulders and around his neck, the heave of his stomach and chest—and the loud, long whine James released, the fingers tightening in his hair and shooting good pain down Lars’s head to his spine and his stomach.

He waited for James to look at him again before he slipped his fingers out.

Lars pushed James’s knees to his chest, settling over him. The hands in his hair slid down to his chest.

James whispered, “Please…”

He kissed James quiet again, finally pressing inside him.

The fire crackled on, heating their skin, as Lars made a slow rhythm James followed. Their kisses matched their tempo: slow, drawn out, tongues tasting, sliding. Their hands roamed skin, played with hair. James’s legs secured around Lars’s moving waist. Lars’s hair cascaded around their faces, enshrouding them and reducing the world to each other.

Soon, Lars picked up the rhythm. He spread kisses down to James’s neck, gave him the deep hickeys he knew James enjoyed—markers that James would remember and people would wonder about. Markers that’d make James embarrassed, but then he’d remember Lars, and remember tonight. Remember this moment.

His teeth sunk into the skin, his hips thrusting faster.

James’s nails dug into his back.

Nose to James’s throat, he felt and heard James groan, “ _More_.”

His teeth bit into new, unmarked flesh. Sucked it in, worried it, chewed it—James mewled—and he let it go, kissing the now red skin.

Another. And another.

More gasps. More quivers and moans.

James’s nails raked up his back to his shoulders.

“Lars.” James’s cheek pressed against his head. “Touch me. Please.”

He lifted his head up to kiss James again.

His hand snuck between their bodies.

James groaned into his mouth.

A few strokes later, James broke their kiss and let loose a loud “ _uhhnnn_ ,” his neck tense and teeth clenched. Warm come ran over his fingers and their stomaches.

Lars wiped the dirty hand on the floor, his thrusts turning erratic. He planted his face into the crook of James’s marred neck, digging his nails into James’s shoulders.

“Fuck.” He scraped his teeth against the skin, panting, “James. James. James, oh _fuck_ …”

Hands smoothed over his burning back. James’s lips kissed his cheek.

Lars groaned when James squeezed around his cock. And again.

And again.

He whined, “ _Fandens_.” Panted louder, harder, thrusting faster and gasped, “Oh God, James, _Jaaaames—_ ”

One last thrust, and he came inside James with a yelp. His hips stayed pressed against James’s ass, his body trembling from head to toe, choked noises escaping his tight throat into James’s neck, his hot breath blowing back onto his sweaty face.

And those hands kept petting him. James petted him in gentle strokes, up and down his spine, over the nail marks on his skin, over his sweaty hair, until his body finally calmed down and he slumped down onto James with a long, loud sigh.

The legs around his waist loosened, falling on either side of Lars’s hips and thighs.

James let loose a long, loud sigh too, into his scalp. The warm breath felt good.

He dozed off to the sound of James’s breathing and heartbeat working in tandem, the fire’s gentle crackles, and those hands petting his hair and skin.

When he came to, their stomaches were dry and sticky, and James was awake, staring at the fire.

Lars indulged in the sight, how the light played on James’s face—the reflection of the flames in his blue eyes. He looked good. Sated. Relaxed.

Those eyes found his. James turned his head towards him.

His stomach fluttered at James’s smile, and soft, “Hi.”

Lars smiled back. He pushed up onto his forearms to loom over James, his hair cascading around their faces again.

“Hey.” He bent down, pressing a quick kiss to James’s lips. Pulling back, he cupped James’s cheek and whispered, “You okay?”

“Yeah.”

“I wasn’t too heavy, was I?”

James chuckled and shook his head no.

Lars gave James another kiss, and then rolled off to his side, an arm lingering over James’s waist, a leg hooked over both of James’s.

He had dozed off again, when he felt James’s hand rest over his, on James’s belly.

Propping up onto an elbow, he looked up—and found James’s bandaged hand holding his. The burned hand.

James’s head turned towards him.

Those eyes.

A different kind of desperate-needy.

Lars sat up better. He pulled James’s bandaged hand towards his chest.

With both of his hands holding James’s, and his attention staying on James, he brought the knuckles to his lips and kissed them.

He thumbed some of the skin. Thumbed a corner of the bandage. 

Lars kissed the knuckles again.

On the next kiss, his lips lingered.

He breathed in the skin, sliding one hand down James’s forearm, over some of the still-healing skin, and up.

Another kiss.

Lars closed his eyes, taking another, longer breath.

He pushed that hand to his face. Cupped the palm over his cheek and rubbed into it. Turned his head and nuzzled his nose into it.

One more kiss, into his palm.

One more longer breath.

When he pulled James’s hand away and opened his eyes again, he found James smiling at him—a wobbly, little smile, all for him.

He tugged Lars forward.

Lars followed, settling back onto the floor, onto his side.

James rolled towards him.

This time, when they kissed, James settled between Lars’s legs, with James’s hair cascading over their faces. Their hands roamed again, petting skin, playing with hair, tongues tasting, sliding together.

And when the kiss ended, James settled his hands onto Lars’s chest—with one hand over Lars’s heart.

“Thank you.”

Lars’s chest tightened. His throat too.

He stared into James’s shiny eyes, pushing a hand over James’s cheek and into his hair, hooking the locks behind his ear.

James. Here, with him. In his home.

They made it. James made it.

Lars’s vision blurred.

He tilted his head up and kissed him again.

They soon left the floor for the couch, Lars laying a large blanket over their naked laps. James curled an arm around Lars, pulling him into his side.

Together, they watched the fire burn the rest of the logs, until the flames died off for good.


End file.
